Right Under Your Nose
by Neko9406
Summary: John Hamish Watson is Sherlock's only friend, companion, and contact with the world. No one would suspect him for anything. Watson John Hamison, on the other hand, is the enemy that Sherlock doesn't know. Here is a taste of what he can do.
1. Chapter 1

**Right under Your Nose**

John sat at the table, his hands cupped around the cooling mug of tea, as he watched Sherlock pace across the small living parlor. He repressed the smile he felt bubbling up. The knowledge that Sherlock had no idea, no clue, that he was behind the case, behind everything, left him feeling slightly euphoric.

"It doesn't make sense!" Sherlock kept muttering as he pressed his hands together, prayer style, and brought them to his lips.

John had many fantasies about those lips. The image of them wrapped around his hard cock, them panting his name, the lips pink and ravished. He slowly shook his head, before glancing up at the clock.

"Sherlock," He called out, setting his mug on the kitchen table, "I have to go. You don't need anything do you?"

He knew that Sherlock didn't hear him, not when he was this concentrated. John allowed a small smile to grace his face. Really, this was much, much too easy. He quickly pulled on his parka and left the building. He lifted his hand and called a taxi, the autumn wind swirling around his feet, collecting the leaves that fell from the few trees in London.

"Take me to the London Eye, please." He smiled genially to the cab driver.

"Right a'way sir." The cabbie chirped before he pulled back into the lane.

John watched the scenery pass by and hummed The Devil's Trill to himself, enjoying the way the song flowed.

When the cabbie pulled up to the sidewalk John thanked the man, paid, and turned to watch the giant Ferris wheel, all the while humming The Devil's Trill.

"You took your time," A cool voice called to him and a pair of arms slid around his back, clasping together in the middle of his stomach.

"Irene, my dear, if you would kindly get off me I would be grateful." John chuckled, feeling The Woman's body pressed to his back, "If I had left any sooner, then our dear

Hound would have been curious, and have followed me. So don't get your knickers in a twist, Jim."

John turned to give Jim an innocent smile. Jim snorted before looking away, annoyed. Irene Adler, pouting slightly, released John. John patted one of her hands.

"Shall we get going?" Jim asked, his face set in a sullen mask.

"We might as well," John shrugged, "It would be good to get out of these clothes into something decent."

Irene gave a throaty laugh, "I picked out just the thing for you John! I picked out a nice checkered grey Savile Row with a sky blue silk tie! They are going to look so wonderful on you!"

John smiled fondly at her. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Honestly John!" Jim snapped, "How long are you going to keep pretending-" John cut him off with a glare. Jim grimaced. This time Irene rolled her eyes.

"My car is waiting for us by the bridge," Irene practically sang out, hooking her arm through Jim's, "We'll bring it round soon!"

The pair walked briskly down the street, looking like a wealthy couple who were there to waste time.

John's smile shrank into his face, the crags and wrinkles sending shadows across his face. His eyes grew cold as he turned to watch the Eye slowly spin, the tourists, couples, and people, chattering away.

How easy it would be to kill them all, to place bombs in strategic locations and just blow them all to kingdom come. His thought process was broken as something tugged at his pant leg.

When John looked down his face was once more smiling and eyes warm. A small boy looked up at him, eyes teary.

"I'm lost." The boy squeaked out, a thumb stuck in his lips. John estimated the boy's age to be approximately five.

"I see," John said, crouching down to the boy. In that moment John already knew what his next game would be. The smile John had on was blinding as he ruffled the boy's head.

"I don't suppose a big boy like you knows your home address?"

The boy beamed back and nodded vigorously, releasing John's pant leg to bring out a piece of paper. John quickly scanned the sheet before stuffing it into his parka's pocket.

"In a few seconds some friends of mine are going to pick me up. Do you want to come along? We can take you to your place?"

The boy's face light up even more. They only had to wait for a minute or so, in that time John had already extracted the entire boy's, Erik's, favorites (favorite color is blue, loves his mama and papa, likes cars, and really loves chocolate ice cream etc.).

When the black BMW pulled up Erik had already declared himself best friends with John, much to John's own amusement. When they both climbed into the car Irene was there to coo lovingly over the boy, making him blush from the attention.

"Erik?" John caught the child's attention, "I hope you don't mind, but we need to go somewhere first, before we can take you home. Is that alright?"

John looked at the child so pleadingly, and Irene smelled sooo nice, that Erik smiled and agreed. Jim, driving the car, controlled his snort of amusement at John's obvious plan.

John smiled back at Jim, his eyes cold and already calculating. It wasn't more than fifteen minutes before they pulled up in front of a normal looking house, with a white picket fence, and a few scattered toys in the driveway.

"This is my home!" Irene smiled down at the boy, "If you like you can come in."

Erik nodded eagerly, as Jim pulled into the driveway, skillfully driving around the toys. Irene exited first, holding out a hand for the child, and together they made their way to the front door, Irene's hand already pulling out the house key.

"The usual?" Jim asked as the two males exited and closed their own doors. John nodded, the smiling mask never wavering. Jim's own smiling was sharp to John's warm one.

Once John entered the building he quickly located the stairs that led to the upper floor. He opened the master bedroom door, smiling at the neatness of the room, pleased that the true owners of this little house were so meticulous.

On the bed Irene had already laid out the suit that she had procured for him, wincing slightly at the clash between the flowery bedspread and the grey checkerboard design of his suit. Quickly he took off his disguise, grateful to relieve himself of the dumpy and ill-form fitting clothes that characterized John Hamish Watson, stripping off even his cotton boxers. He already knew that Irene had brought over the silken briefs he customarily wore.

After he had finished dressing, snapped on the unadorned white gold cufflinks, and slipped his feet into a pair of Gravati's, he closed his eyes, relishing the feel of proper clothes. Honestly he had sometimes longed to dive into Sherlock's closet just to feel the cloth of proper garments.

He snapped his eyes open, glanced into the mirror as he picked up the tie Irene had chosen for him, and tied a half-Windsor knot, delighting in the feel of silk slipping through his fingers. He allowed his eyes to sharpen and his smile to fade. He allowed himself to resume his true identity, for only this afternoon, of Watson John Hamish.

Opening the bedroom door, Watson found his two sub-lieutenants waiting for him, their faces blanks. Watson nodded to them.

"The boy?" His voice brisk as Irene presented him with his family ring, a golden band with a large lapis lazuli in the center, which he promptly slipped onto his left index finger.

"Already dead, sir." Jim reported with a cruel smile on his face, "There was no mess; he quickly ate the poisoned candy when Irene gave it to him."

Watson nodded satisfaction. He lifted his right hand lazily, almost as if he draped it on the air.

"Irene, find someone to take care of the arrangement. Jim, inform me on the updates that you found most urgent."

Irene snapped open her cell phone as she turned and descended quickly down the stairs. Jim and Watson walked more slowly as Jim quickly brought Watson up to date on the going on of the Family Business.

_Ahh my darling Sherlock, if you could see me now._ Watson thought, a slight smirk tugging at his lips _I wonder what you would have to say?_

The next morning Lestrade's text sent Sherlock tearing out of the flat, John at his heels. A young boy, soon to be identified as Erik Contran, had been found in the London Eye, dissected. There had been no witnesses and the worker who had closed the Ferris wheel at 5:30 pm sharp, had checked all the seats and found them empty. The body had been found this morning at 9:00 am when the morning worker had started work.

Sherlock was in a fury as he desperately tried to find clues to the murderer. John silently stayed in the background, smiling inside as the feeling of euphoria grew. There was no way that Sherlock would suspect him; he had been home exactly at 5:00 pm, when he normally stopped working, with a bag of groceries.

_Catch me if you can Sherlock. I am right under your nose._


	2. EXTRA, for those who asked for it

A little Extra for those who asked for it…and don't complain that you don't like the ending; I think this was the most appropriate end of this kind. If you want something more graphic then use your perverted little minds and think of something. This Story is now OFFICALLY COMPLETE!

**Right under Your Nose**

Sherlock fingered his violin bow, watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the windowsill. To anyone who did not know him Sherlock would have looked like a normal, if handsome, man idling away a rainy afternoon. John knew differently, however, and waited, keeping his body relaxed, for whatever was on Sherlock's mind.

The tick-tock of the clock and the rain drops tapping against the roof of 221B Baker Street formed a peaceful harmony. John waited for the discord to form, already knowing what he would do.

"Where were you when the boy was murdered John?" Sherlock asked, almost nonchalantly, his eyes trained on John's reflection.

John blinked twice, the normal sign for slight surprise and confusion, before answering.

"At work, I think," He twisted his facial expression a little, this time pulling on the mask of pondering, "or maybe I was at the market. Yes, I think I was at the market."

"You're lying to me." Sherlock turned around, his pale eyes boring into John's, "When you returned you had the distinct smell of perfume on you, expensive female perfume. You also had actual groceries at exactly 5 pm. You normally get off at work around 4:30 pm, spend an hour to get the amount of groceries you brought that day, and take thirty minutes to return here without the aid of a cabbie."

John felt it inside him, the hot rush of lust and the warm bubble of pleasure. He wondered if he should continue the act. Yes, he decided, just for a few more minutes.

"Sally let me out of the office early, I had one of the workers help me with the blasted machine, and I did take the cabbie. The smell is probably from the cabbie, I think."

"Don't lie to me John," Sherlock dropped his voice, hissing out John's name. He stalked toward his friend, his only friend, and loomed over John.

John decided to drop the act, allowing a smirk to replace his smile and his eyes to sharpen. Sherlock's eyebrows twitched slightly at this sudden transformation. His normally solid and warm friend had been replaced by a stranger, one whose face reflected slight cruelty.

"What do you think happened, Sherlock?" Watson allowed the consulting detective's name to roll around on his tongue.

"Who are you?" Sherlock's breath hissed out, his grip tightening on the violin bow, as he felt the danger radiating from John.

"You'll see soon enough." Watson purred before he struck out.

It was almost pathetic how easy it was to knock the taller man out, Watson mused while he was tying his prey's hands together. He paused in his handiwork when he noticed his phone vibrating. Raising one eyebrow he looked at the caller screen, smirking as it flashed "Unknown Number".

"Why good evening Mycroft," Watson said.

"Let go of my brother, Watson John Hamish!" Mycroft's voice was sharp and commanding.

Watson smiled before snapping the cell phone shut, effectively cutting Mycroft off. He looked down at Sherlock's bound body before he flipped open his phone once again. He pressed 0 and waited for Jim to pick up.

"It happened earlier than I expected Jim," Watson's voice was grudging, "You win the bet. You can have him first, just don't break him. I still want Irene to train him for me."

"Of course Master," Jim's voice was smooth and warm, "a car has been sent to get you and your newest pet."

Watson smiled at this, "I shall reward you well Jim, wait for me." Watson flipped his cell closed.

Sherlock was starting to come to, given the slight, if muffled, groan he had just emitted.

Watson smirked, "What kind of moans will you produce for me, My Dear Sherlock? What kind of sounds shall I force out of you?"

Sherlock could only glare at his captor, struggling against his bonds.


End file.
